


Differential For A Turtleneck

by Nemesis (ThetaSigma)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/Nemesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron is intrigued by House's turtleneck and the reasons behind it. She spies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Differential For A Turtleneck

The ducklings glanced up when House entered. He wasn’t whistling or singing or ranting or thumping his cane angrily, which meant that they wouldn’t have to deal with either extreme version of House today. They heaved a sigh of relief. 

Foreman’s eyes returned immediately to the medical journal he was reading. Chase’s gaze drifted to the ceiling as he thoughtfully chewed on his pencil and tried to think of what word could possibly fit the prompt “Done alone, for pleasure, turning blue (2-22)” (he had asked already and growled when both Cameron and Foreman shrugged). 

Cameron continued to look at House. The lines around his face didn’t seem any deeper today than they had yesterday, which probably meant he wasn’t in serious pain today. She glanced at his right hand, curled around his cane. His grip was strong, sturdy, but his knuckles weren’t turning white and it didn’t seem the cane head would shatter under the strength of his grip. Normal levels of pain, then, Cameron guessed. 

Sneakers, as usual, rumpled jeans, as usual, sports jacket, as usual, and a blue turtleneck, as usual… wait, _what?_ Cameron looked again, certain that she was hallucinating. 

No such luck. Blue turtleneck. Sky blue turtleneck, and oh God it was _hot_. It brought out his eyes and covered his entire neck, ending at his (very lickable) jaw line.

Turtleneck… why would House wear a turtleneck? House always wore shirts. Well-worn shirts, a wrinkled button-down, and a sports jacket. Not a turtleneck.

She needed to know about that turtleneck. It was an anomaly. Anomalies bugged House, which meant they should bug her. They didn’t always, didn’t usually even, but anomalies with House definitely bugged her. They meant that she didn’t have him figured out perfectly, and that… that was _bad_.

Because there was no way she was going to get the Dr. Gregory House as a carnival prize if she didn’t know everything about him. She might have to settle for the Dr. Robert Chase or the Dr. Eric Foreman, and that… _that_ was creepy and wrong and definitely not what her mother had meant when she had told Cameron to marry a doctor.

There were all sorts of reasons for a turtleneck, beyond getting laid and needing to hide the evidence (the thought made Cameron seethe with jealousy). Maybe he was cold, or maybe he ran out of clean t-shirts (Cameron wasn’t sure this would stop House from wearing one, but she really didn’t want to consider it), or maybe he simply wanted to wear it. Maybe…

“Nice shirt,” Foreman commented. “Starting a fashion trend?”

“Nope,” House answered cheerfully. “Hiding the necklace of hickeys I got last night. Bit too high. Oh well.” And he gave an elegant little half-shrug.

Well, that precluded House actually getting laid last night. House joked to deflect, not to elucidate. Unless he was counting on his reputation of doing so to hide the fact that’s what he’d done.

Cameron definitely needed to know more. She needed to know everything. 

“You’re wasting brain power on a crossword puzzle,” House pointed out. “What’s more, you’re clearly stuck and therefore really wasting time on it.”

“Done alone, for pleasure, turning blue. Two words, twenty-two letters,” Chase answered instead of rising to the bait.

“Autoerotic asphyxiation,” House answered immediately. “Not nearly as much fun as it sounds and completely idiotically dangerous. Do you have any idea how many people die a year from autoerotic asphyxiation?”

Wilson entered the office just then, humming something. He had a red mug in his hand.

House scowled at him. “ _My_ red mug.”

“ _You_ left it in _my_ office. Just so happens your office has better coffee.” He smiled slightly. “Of course you pick a turtleneck over a shirt and tie.”

House smirked. “Turtleneck hides hickeys better. And shirt and tie are _boring_.”

“No, they’re not,” Wilson answered immediately. “Think of all the funny looks and odd questions you’d get all day. You’d have tons of fun just answering the questions.”

“Yeah, and I’d show Cuddy I’m _capable_ of wearing shirt and tie to work, which would mean that I would never be able to wear my t-shirts again. Admit it. You’re just trying to get me to wear a shirt and tie to work.”

Wilson shrugged. “Well, you know me, the one with the tie fetish.”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. Probably, House was wearing a turtleneck for a dull and mundane reason. Something completely ordinary. He had to be, if he was joking this enthusiastically about it.

But she wasn’t _certain_ , and _that_ really bugged her.

***

Cameron learned absolutely nothing during the day, not one lousy thing about the reason for House’s turtleneck. It aggravated her. She wanted to know what was there, why House felt the need to wear a turtleneck. And, probably just to piss her off, House skillfully evaded all of her attempts to find anything out.

One option left, however desperate.

Spying on House. It was a _crazy_ idea. Absolutely insane.

Which didn’t explain why she left work earlier than House (claimed an appointment she couldn’t get out of) and sped towards his home. She parked half a street further than his house and quickly walked over to his house. 

It was full of shrubs, which mean plenty of cover. And there were plenty of windows for her to peer through. 

She had no idea what she was hoping to gain. Unless there was actually something on his body that he was trying to hide, there was little chance she’d actually learn his motives for putting on a turtleneck. She knew already from working for him that he wasn’t the type of person to talk to himself, so she probably wouldn’t even learn anything from idle chatter.

There was the tell-tale noise of House’s motorbike screeching to a stop. Cameron crawled to the driveway, grimacing at the dirt. She was glad she had switched into sweats before coming, but still. Dirt took _forever_ to get out of anything, and, if she was right, there was grass, too. She _hated_ grass stains. Sometimes she thought it was the only reason she didn’t have kids. Grass stains.

House was limping into his home. Cameron peeked into the living room window and saw him shrug out of his leather coat and hang it up. She blinked a few times in surprise. She hadn’t figured that he’d be so neat. Clearly, she didn’t know much about him.

House started moving along the hallway, and Cameron crawled along the side of the house.

He entered the bedroom and flicked the light on. Cameron poked her head up and watched. Maybe now she’d find out why the turtleneck.

He removed the turtleneck quickly. Cameron looked her fill of his naked chest. Goddamn. He was muscled. Not bulging, freak-of-nature (or steroids) type of muscles, but lean, sinewy muscles gained through hard work. He was lean but not emaciated. Sparse hair, with a definite more pronounced trail on his abs, leading down to his jeans. Cameron followed the trail happily with her eyes. Her gaze traveled upwards, to his neck.

And damn, there really _were_ love-bites there. A whole little necklace of them. Cameron ground her teeth. Someone, some _hussy_ , had marked _her_ House. Someone was sleeping with her House.

She forced herself to calm down. Maybe House hired a hooker. He certainly joked about it enough, and clearly, he didn’t always lie when he joked. The evidence was in front of her eyes. Maybe he just had a one-night stand. 

House stretched, his back cracking. He gave a little sigh of pleasure and rooted through his closet. He tugged on an old t-shirt and checked his reflection in the mirror (the hickeys showed clearly).

Cameron was surprised by the mirror. She hadn’t thought House would have one beyond one on a medicine cabinet.

A mirror was suspiciously someone else’s influence. 

And House wasn’t easily influenced. It had to be someone important who influenced him.

Her original mission was completed. She had found out why he was wearing a turtleneck. It was time to go. Get out of here before someone noticed and called the cops. Get out of here before _House_ noticed.

Cameron almost thought she’d prefer the cops finding her to House finding her. Almost. Because then House would find out that not only had she spied on him, but she’d been bad enough at it that the cops caught her. She’d _never_ hear the end of that. 

But… but. There was more to this than just the turtleneck. 

She wanted to know who gave House the hickeys, wanted to know if it was a one-night thing or something more.

***

She had crawled around the house to the kitchen, where House was starting what seemed to be dinner. He was cooking two steaks – two. Two, two, two. Cameron hated the number two. It was an awful number. A _stupid_ number, she thought, feeling very much like a six-year-old justifying getting a third lollipop. Two is a stupid number.

Maybe, she said, knowing fully she was probably deluding herself, maybe House is making lunch for tomorrow too.

Never mind that it didn’t seem like House at all to make lunch for himself. Not when stealing things off of Wilson’s plate was easier and more convenient.

As the steaks were cooking, House began making pasta salad.

And really, who would’ve guessed that House could cook?

Cameron decided she must be hallucinating. 

Because after House finished cooking, he did the dishes. All of them. Rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher, started the dishwasher. Hand-washed the pans he’d used. Cameron gaped.

As he was rinsing off the last item, the front door opened again.

Which, really, should’ve told Cameron everything. The front door _opened_. There was no knock, no ringing of the doorbell, no, “House, you in there? Open the door!”

“Hi, honey!” House called.

A low chuckle met this. “Sorry I’m late.”

Cameron couldn’t hear the voice too well, muffled as it was by glass. She couldn’t tell anything about the voice, except that it wasn’t insanely high-pitched. She knew that she should leave now, leave before she found out who House was seeing.

She’d already lost the game anyway.

But she had to know, had to know who it was that House would tolerate.

She hoped it was no one that she knew. That she didn’t have to look the person in the eye everyday and pretend that she was fine. She hoped it was someone that she’d never lay eyes on again.

“In the kitchen!”

Cameron wondered what House’s girlfriend (wife?) would look like. Wondered how long they’d been together. If they were happy. If she pitied House. 

Cameron began building an image of House’s mystery girlfriend. Tallish, probably, able to look him in the eye. Curvy but not overly so. Busty, but not Barbie-extreme. Blonde hair. Understated make-up, emphasizing but not flaunting femininity. Athletic. 

Wilson entered the kitchen. Cameron _seethed_. She swore she could see a film of red obscuring her vision, no matter how medically impossible actually seeing red was.

“Hey,” House greeted warmly. “I cooked dinner.”

“I can tell. Steak and pasta salad? Greg, that almost borders on healthy.”

“You’re rubbing off on me.” House paused, smiling slightly. “Actually, that’s kinda the goal.”

Wilson chuckled. “Where did you hide the dishes?”

“In there,” House answered, pointing at the dishwasher. “I turned it on, though, so you wouldn’t think of looking there.”

Wilson laughed. “Defeats the purpose of hiding them, doesn’t it?”

“Keeps you on your toes.”

Cameron calmed herself down slightly. This was nothing. Just friends. Just friends, just friends, just friends, she chanted to herself in childish hope. They were having dinner together. It was a friendly thing to do. Friends had dinner together all the time. It was normal.

Just friends. 

Even if House never did anything normal or friendly. 

It couldn’t be anything else. They couldn’t be… _together_. It was…

They were just friends. 

They sat down together, opposite from each other, at a real dining table. Cameron was surprised House had one of those. 

Right. Wilson’s influence. As a friend.

House placed the steaks on their plate while Wilson served the pasta salad. They began eating.

“How was your day?” House and Wilson asked in unison. They smiled at it. House brushed his fingers against Wilson’s. 

“You first,” they said in unison again. This time they chuckled. 

“No, really, you first.” Unison _again_. They laughed, real, full laughs, almost helpless laughs.

“Oh, God,” House managed. “Really, James, you first, and no giving it back.”

Wilson’s laughter subsided a bit. 

As Cameron listened to first Wilson, then House, share the particulars of his day, she let her mind wander. They were friendly. Affectionate. Tender. House had _cooked_. House had asked about Wilson’s day. House had called Wilson _James_. House was demonstrating physical affection.

They finished dinner. House put the plates in the sink while Wilson put away the leftover pasta salad. Wilson moved to get out the dessert plates.

House sneaked up behind him and propped his cane up against the counter. He wrapped his arms around Wilson and nuzzled his neck. “Mm…”

Wilson turned his head and their lips met in a brief kiss.

Cameron’s eyes stung with tears. It was Wilson, and House, and they were together, and House was… he was happy. He seemed happy. He was murmuring something to Wilson, who paused, gave his wide-eyed “I can’t believe that!” look, before both of them burst into laughter.

And he was still holding Wilson like he never wanted to let go.

“Oh, I got pecan pie for dessert,” House said suddenly. “Your favorite.”

Wilson almost _melted_ into House. House’s face contorted briefly as he maneuvered them so that they stayed standing. 

And Wilson wasn’t looking suspiciously at House, wondering what happened to the real one. Apparently, House really was this affectionate all the time. This loving.

There was an ache in Cameron’s gut like nausea, a cold, hard, iron fist around her heart, and a lead lump in her throat. It couldn’t be. Not… 

She didn’t want ever to accept it. Them being this loving. 

She tried to rationalize it. It was the honeymoon phase. Had to be, if they were this happy and affectionate still. It would probably end once Wilson realized how impossible living with House was and…

They had finished their pecan pie.

“Bed?” Wilson asked hopefully, his eyes lighting up. 

“Not yet,” House answered cheerfully, limping towards the door. He opened the backdoor and limped outside.

Cameron was watching Wilson watch House when a hand tightened, vice-like, around her upper right arm. 

“I don’t think you want Cameron to see us fucking,” House supplied cheerfully as he yanked Cameron towards the House.

Wilson gaped at Cameron.

House turned to her and asked, “So, any particular reason for spying on us or was the TV just too boring?”

“I… the… you… turtleneck. Wanted, er, to know… why and… er.”

“You knew that by the time I took my turtleneck off. You stayed beyond that. All through our dinner, to be precise.”

“Uh… who… and, er… how, um… serious.”

“Two years last month,” Wilson said quietly. “Two years married last month.” 

Cameron’s eyes strayed immediately to their left hands: Wilson’s hanging loosely by his side, House’s resting on his right, firmly around the head of his cane. Both of them had simple gold bands on. She wondered why she’d never noticed. She, who spent all that time watching House, studying him – who’d gone to his house over a _turtleneck_ – how had she missed a _wedding ring_?

Oh God. She had bribed that date out of a married man. Had asked… _forced_ … House to take her out on a date. And Wilson hadn’t killed her. 

“I’m sorry!” she gasped out. “The… after Vogler… I’m sorry! I didn’t… he…”

“Cameron,” House said firmly. “Go home. Eat two packs of Oreos. Scarf down a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Cry into your pillow. Whatever. But when you come in to work tomorrow, be coherent. Unlike now.”

Cameron nodded, fighting back tears. She was… confused. She was hurt and guilty and felt a bit betrayed.

“I’ll see you to your car,” Wilson offered.

Once outside, Cameron turned to him. “I’m sorry I asked for that date. I’m really… it wasn’t… you were so good about it.”

Wilson smiled slightly. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t like that he went on it. _He_ didn’t like that he went on it. But. You made him choose. One awkward date with a wedding ring on his finger or having to hire someone less competent than you. Someone he wasn’t used to. You made him choose, and he chose one awkward night knowing his husband was waiting at home while a young, pretty woman was trying to seduce him. I didn’t try to talk him out of it. Because, you see, I know that House doesn’t cheat. And somehow, that made it slightly better.”

They stopped walking. Wilson opened Cameron’s car door for her. “Goodnight, Cameron,” he said firmly, shutting the door.

She felt like he had just shut her out of their lives entirely.

***

The next day at work was bound to be awkward. She had seen a side of House that he didn’t want other people seeing – wait, maybe not, since he knew about her being there, but… 

“Nice shirt,” Chase commented. “Two days in a row. Starting a new trend?”

“Nope,” House answered cheerfully. “Hiding Wilson’s gifts of love. Some of them, anyway.”

House winked at her as he moved his left hand so that the light caught on the ring.


End file.
